


Nothing to Fear...

by depthsofmysol



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Eames really does like Arthur, Even if he shows it in strange ways, F/M, M/M, Phobias, Pranks, Teasing, fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofmysol/pseuds/depthsofmysol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a point man was more than just making certain your team was safe, that they made it out of any job in one piece. It meant more than being the first one down, and the last one out.  It also meant research, and knowing every little detail about a mark as possible. Sometimes, it also meant finding things out about yourself that you honestly didn't know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing to Fear...

Being a point man was more than just making certain your team was safe, that they made it out of any job in one piece. It meant more than being the first one down, and the last one out. It also meant research, and knowing every little detail about a mark as possible. All it took was one little detail, one forgotten piece of information, and the whole job was compromised. Sometimes, it also meant finding things out about yourself that you honestly didn't know. Or, more precisely, had locked away, hoping to never think about them again.

Arthur had _always_ been one for details. No matter how minute, he wanted to know all there was to know, and then some. Growing up, he constantly found himself pouring over books, soaking up whatever information he could. For instance, he knew he was far more likely to get struck by lightning, than being struck down by some form of transportation, such as a bus. He also knew that he was more likely to get away with murder, than actually being murdered. 

That didn't stop him from constantly thinking about all the numbers that constantly. If anything, they were a constant presence, a reminder of his mortality. Unlike the job, which tended to force him to compartmentalize everything. Well, almost everything. A few stray stats tended to invade his mind on occasion, and staring at the research for this particular job, one stat tended stick out more than others.

"Getting away with murder," he murmured, mostly to himself. It wasn't directed towards the job. Oddly enough, their latest venture was going to be relatively easy. A simple extraction, in and out, in a matter of hours. Tops. It was actually one of their easiest jobs. No, his words were directed toward their forger; a man he'd never worked with before, a man he'd hope to _never_ work with again.

The Cobbs knew about his little idiosyncrasies, about the fact he'd preferred places that were within walking distance of his hotel. If he could avoid certain types of public transportation, he would do so. They'd never questioned his reasoning, never asked why he would ask for their dreamscapes to be void of certain objects, or locales. Even Mal, in all her infinite wisdom, hadn't pushed when he'd told her he didn't want to talk about it.

Eames, on the other hand, Arthur had absolutely no idea about. Would the forger actually find him just as strange as his own choice of clothing? Or would he find it some sort of weakness? Something that could be poked, and prodded, and used against him. He was a wild card, a unknown variable, and something he couldn't control. And anything out of his control, was something he would constantly worry himself over. 

Especially, as he'd overheard the argument he'd gotten into with Dom the previous day, about the first level dream, and the fact that he wanted it to take place in some sort of transit centre. When they'd finally gotten out of the dream, he'd been extremely close to murdering his friend. Arthur wanted to know just what it was that made Cobb an insensitive asshole.

"Arthur! You ready?"

"Coming," he called back, unenthusiastically. Arthur had forgotten he'd told Dom he would go back under, and approve their latest design, one that he and Mal had worked on, hoping to overcome his own idiosyncrasies. The last thing he wanted was to make everything difficult, but he wasn't about to put himself in a situation where he couldn't protect his own team. And if that meant forcing Mal and Dom to design something he felt comfortable enough with, than so be it. They could argue semantics another time.

Walking through the old warehouse, his thoughts still wandered to their forger. Arthur had spent some time trying to dig up information on the man, and other than the usual bits of information, nothing honestly stood out about the Brit. He had to go on Mal's word, and his own research, and neither of which, made him feel any more at ease with this. But he'd worked three previous jobs with the Cobbs, and trusted that they wouldn't put themselves, or himself, in harms way. He may not have liked the additional unknown with Eames, but he trusted his friends. 

"Dom, I thought – " He found himself stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes flickering between his friend, and the forger. Arthur had assumed it would just be the two of them going under, to finalize everything. Having Eames along, while not complicating things, would make it _difficult_. Especially, if they needed to make changes to the level.

"Problem, Arthur?" Any other person, and they would have missed the minute look of panic that crossed the point man's face. Eames had spent far too long studying people to have missed such a tell. The argument he'd overheard the previous day, combined with that little tell, had him wondering just what it was he didn't want anyone else to know, or to see. Mal refused to give him any sort of information, and left to his own devices, things never really ended well. But he had a plan, and if his hunch was right, he would soon find out just what it was that the point man kept tucked away beneath the layers of his form fitting suits.

"No. Of course not," he said. Arthur refused to let Eames get under his skin. Ever since his arrival, he'd found himself having to avoid the man wherever he could. If it wasn't the incessant teasing about his choice of clothing, it was his work ethic, or lack of imagination, or whatever it was that he found the necessity to pick on him for. The first few days he'd been able to handle it. Now, there were times he wanted to shoot the man, and put them out of all their misery. Were it not for Mal, and her constant reminders to ignore him, he might have done just that.

"If you two boys are done?"

Arthur made certain to shoot Dom a look that could easily kill a few men. He didn't like the fact he had to have his attention drawn back to the job at hand by his friend. It never should have been diverted, in the first place. But just like every other time Eames was around, he found himself unable to focus. It hadn't been like that on the other jobs, which meant the forger was the problem. And one, he needed to solve rather quickly.

Taking the seat as far away from the forger as possible, Arthur inserted the cannula into his left wrist, and waited for the all too familiar feeling that accompanied the somnacin hitting his system. He wasn't nervous. Mal had told him she and Dom had come up with another design, one that would work with his fears. But his foot refused to stop twitching, giving away the fact that his own nerves were slowly getting the better of him. He wasn't nervous, though. Not in the slightest.

At long last, he felt the drugs enter his system, and when he opened his eyes once again, found himself in the middle of a city scape eerily familiar. Arthur could pick out parts of New York, Paris, London, and possibly Berlin. But no transit centres, which meant his body wouldn't be on full alert. The first time he and Dom had designed a level for this dream, his body screamed the instant his eyes opened. This time, though, everything seemed to be normal, and his little secret would be kept between himself, and the Cobbs.

"This should work better, Dom. At least for what we're planning on." 

Walking out into the street, it was strange not to see any projections. In a normal dream, the whole scape was covered with projections. Not having any put Arthur on the defensive, his eyes looking for any potential threat. At least, until he stopped next to Cobb. The extractor was the dreamer, and the subject, which meant he was in control of everything. It also meant there was no real reason to worry.

"I thought Eames was joining us. Lost his nerve or something?"

"Or something," came his usual reply, void of anything other than the accent required. Eames always enjoyed the reactions, when he met them inside a dream as one of his forgeries. This time was no exception. Watching Arthur's face go from cool and collected, to one of surprise, had him smirking. He hadn't thought it was possible to get such a reaction from the point man. Not after everything that had happened between them. 

"Acceptable, then? Or, does it need some adjustments?"

"It's – it's fine, actually. No need to change anything." Arthur was rarely one to be at a loss of words, but seeing their mark's brother, the man they were going to use to aid them in extracting the information they needed, had caught him by complete surprise. It was also the first time he'd seen a forger in action. Their previous jobs hadn't needed anyone, and while he'd heard of them, this was the first time he'd ever seen one. And, he figured, surprise was the least likely to give away anything.

"Dom, if we're done here? I want to make certain this level will work for us." In reality, Arthur just wanted an excuse to get as far away from Eames as possible. The man was good, and he'd known that from his research. He just didn't expect him to be _that_ good. Which only made the nerves worse. Distance was the only thing that would work, and knowing they still had time on the timer, he could explore the level, and make certain it really would work. 

With it void of any obstacles, Arthur didn't even bother to look as he crossed the first set of three lanes. What was the point? No cars, no buses, no projections. There was nothing there that could kill him. It was a perfectly safe environment. And as he stepped out into the street… 

"Arthur, Arthur. You're okay."

"What the fuck, Mal? What – " For an instant, it hurt to breathe, hurt to move, hurt to do just about anything. Arthur had been killed from dreams quite a few times already, but none in that fashion. His whole body seemed to go into some sort of defence mode, and panicking was the only thing it knew how to do.

" _Eames_ ," he spat, ripping the cannula from his arm, and ignoring the trickle of blood. Slowly, the last moments in the dream were coming back to him, and the last thing he remembered was a damn _bus_. His worst fear had come to life – he'd been killed by a god damn _bus_. Killing the forger seemed like the next logical step, but judging by the look on Mal's face, Arthur knew she wouldn't let him do that. 

And sitting around, waiting for him to emerge from the dream, wasn't something he wanted to do either. Instead, he grabbed the packet of cigarettes, and stormed out of the warehouse, hoping the cool Paris air would help simmer his ire. Arthur had a feeling the forger was up to something. The plan had been for him and Cobb to inspect the level, and work out any kinks. Eames wasn't needed at all. Yet, somehow the man had convinced Cobb to let him go down with them. It was a nightmare waiting to happen.

Leaning up against the building, taking in one last drag, he felt all the ire from before, slowly dissipating. Arthur knew it would. Distance, and the cool air, tended to remind him that this was just one in a line of jobs, and that he wouldn't always have to deal with incompetent people, such as Eames.

"Arthur?" Having been railed by Dom in the dream, and then by Mal, topside, Eames felt more than just a little guilt for the stunt he'd pulled. Curiosity had always gotten the better of him, and pulling a prank before never ended with him feeling quite so bad, as he currently felt. It was supposed to be nothing more than a harmless prank. But after Mal explained everything, or as much as she could tell without giving away specifics, he felt like he owed Arthur more than just an apology.

"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. I'm out here smoking, when I normally don't smoke. Does it _look_ like I'm okay?" His first instinct had been to pull the glock from its holster on his hip, and shoot Eames. It was the least he could do, after what the forger had put him through. But the anger, which had slowly been dissipating, was now back in full force.

"Fuck, Eames. Did you think I'd find it amusing? Did _you_ find it funny?"

"No, that's why – "

"Y'know what? Save it. I don't want to – "

"Arthur? I need to speak with you for a moment. I've got some questions about our mark."

Saved by Mal. Just what Arthur needed. First he dies at the hands of the forger, and now, he was being saved from murdering another team member by Mal. Could this day get any worse? Arthur knew better than to think such things, as they tended to actually get worse. But, really, he didn't need anyone to come save him from the forger. He was more than capable of handling himself.

"Fine," he responded, with a bit more bite than usual, glaring Eames the whole time. Arthur didn't _want_ nor _need_ his apology, or whatever it was he came out there to do. All he wanted was some peace and quiet, and to figure out what to do next. Why was that so hard to do?

"Arthur? Are you okay, mon cher?" 

Her voice had always been one of the few things that brought him back from the edge of whatever crisis he found himself in. Arthur knew he could trust Mal. There was still that one part of him that found it hard to trust anyone, though. No matter who it was. Especially, when it came to his phobias. And having it played out, in a dream no less, only made the situation worse.

"No, not really," he said, allowing her to lead them back to his desk. How could anyone be okay after that? Arthur had been shot out of dreams, pushed off buildings, and even off cliffs. All of that he could handle. He hadn't expected to be forced out a dream by a bus, something he'd feared for as long as he could remember. It had honestly rattled him down to the core, and he still couldn't quite shake the feeling, that what happened in the dream, would one day happen to him in real life.

"Oh, mon ami. He didn't mean any harm by it."

"Mal, you _know_ what he did, right? How could there be anything _but_ malicious intent in it?" Arthur couldn't understand why she was taking _Eames'_ side in all of this. Weren't they friends? Shouldn't she be taking _his_ side? It made no sense, why she was trying to explain Eames' actions. What did he care? Once they were done, he would never see the forger again.

"Arthur, he _likes_ you. Not that it excuses anything. I'm just saying that's why he does what he does."

Were it not for the fact he'd already rolled his die, Arthur would have taken it out, and rolled it again. He couldn't understand why anyone would do such a thing. Especially, if they liked a person. He couldn't wrap his brain around it all. No one had ever liked Arthur. Not unless he could do something for them. Then, he was their new best friend. Whatever Eames wanted from him, he wasn't going to get it. Arthur was there to work. Not flirt with his team-mates.

"It doesn't matter, Mal," he told her. And it honestly didn't. Though, turn about was fair play. No one would expect him to actually pull the same kind of stunt. Arthur was known as a hard worker, someone who only went out with co-workers when forced to. Who would think he had the capacity to actually pull a prank? Eames would never expect it, and thanking Mal for their conversation, returned to his desk, intent on finding _something_ he could use to get back at the forger with. If it was out there, he would find it.

Though, after spending most of the day, and long into the night, Arthur was expecting not to find anything. Eames was definitely good at covering up his tracks. But he hadn't expected to meet up with someone like himself – determined to dig up every little bit of information he could find. It was what made him an excellent point man, after all. Luckily, just before midnight he found the information he needed, and retired to his hotel room, wanting to make certain no one knew just what he had planned.

The following morning, just like all the ones before it, he was the first one to the warehouse. Arthur made certain that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, having gone so far as to bring everyone in their usual breakfasts. For once, his own nerves weren't getting the better of him. He was actually – _excited_ to finally do something no one would ever expect. All that was left was Eames. And then, he could invite the man into one of his dreams, under the pretence of working on the forgery. It seemed absolutely perfect.

Until, it was long past the time Eames normally showed up, and Arthur was wondering if maybe their forger had decided to just not show up. He'd been tempted to ask Mal if he'd said anything to her about it. But then, that would have given her the impression that he cared. And in all honesty, he didn't. Not one bit. Well, maybe a little. The man, as irritating as he was, was part of their team, and his well being fell under his duties as a point man.

"Morning all. Sorry I'm late," he managed to get out, even though his head was pounding. Eames had spent the previous night at his hotel's bar, getting as pissed as possible. The prank, as harmless as he meant it, had ended up far worse than he'd expected. And when he'd gone to try and apologize, all he'd gotten in return from Arthur were glares, and yelling. Getting pissed seemed like the next best thing. Though, the hangover he was currently dealing with was making him reconsider it.

"Eames, can I talk with you for a moment?" Arthur probably should have felt some sort of guilt, watching the forger flinch upon hearing his name called. But, then he remembered the prank from the day before, and all of that guilt disappeared. There wasn't any room for guilt, or any other feeling, besides revenge. It was time for Eames to understand that not everyone appreciates a prank. Especially one that hits so close to home.

"Do you have some time to go under again? I just want to be certain." He knew that Eames' forgery was perfect, and was certain that the forger knew that as well. But what harm could come from making certain one last time? They were planning on pulling off the job in forty-eight hours, and the time to iron out all the kinks was now, and not while they were under. Arthur was certain Eames understood that. Just like the Cobbs. Everyone's reputation was on the line, and he wasn't about to sully his because of a simple mistake.

"Uh, sure. Just give me a moment?" Normally, Eames hated when people questioned his work, his integrity. He'd worked hard as both a real world, and a dream forger, and to have it questioned, had him wondering just what sort of group he'd gotten himself entangled with. Then again, it was quite possible it was the hangover talking, and not just his bruised ego. What he really needed was some paracetamol, and water. Once he had those, he would be good to go. Even if he was still weary of the point man, he would at least indulge the man. Practice, no matter what the art, made perfect, and in their line of work, anything short of perfection meant they would end up dead.

Setting up the PASIV, Arthur couldn't help but watch as Eames walked by him, and towards the room where they kept a small first aid kit, and water. He knew the man was hungover. The way he walked, and shielded the light gave that much away. But it wasn't going to sway him from what he had planned. If anything, it would drive his point home. He just had to hope that Eames' reaction wouldn't be that of violence. If it was, he could handle it. He may have looked like he was nothing but skin and bones, but looks were deceiving.

"You okay? We don't have to do – "

"I'm fine, Arthur. Let's just get this over with."

Having already pushed the cannula into his own wrist, he waited until Eames was ready, and pushed the button with the heel of his shoe. He'd put five minutes on the timer, but Arthur knew they wouldn't need it all. If anything, they would be back rather shortly. He had no intention of staying under with the forger for any longer than was absolutely necessary. The sooner he got his message across the better.

And just as he expected, they were both up, and awake far sooner than the five minutes he set the timer for.

"Christ, Arthur, what the fuck are you playing at?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Eames."

Neither of them had noticed Mal and Dom watching them from across the warehouse. Nor had they noticed the grin that had suddenly appeared on Mal's face.

"You know, mon cheri, if they can get over all the hair pulling, they just might make a good team. Almost as good as us."

"Think so?"

"I _know_ so."

**Author's Note:**

> This madness is all [blakesreckoning](http://archiveofourown.org/users/blakesreckoning)'s fault. She suggested Arthur die via a bus in another fic, and I said no. Well, guess what. This is about as close as I can get to your request.


End file.
